


A Needed Rest

by IlluminationEgo



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M, Spanking, blood mention, consent checks, needle mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlluminationEgo/pseuds/IlluminationEgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirin finds Strife on the edge of his limits, and reminds him of a few things. (First part SFW, second NSFW)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Found on tumblr in two parts: http://illumwriting.tumblr.com/post/97016970289/fic-a-needed-rest-1-2  
> and here: http://illumwriting.tumblr.com/post/97105613799/fic-a-needed-rest-2-2

Kirin arrives as he does every week, a simple swirl of golden runes to indicate his presence as he steps forward behind William and frowns. The C.E.O is bent over a table, brows drawn together in frustration as he talks to the materials before him. It is clear that Kirin’s presence has gone unnoticed, by the way William is holding himself. The professionalism and cockiness seems to have almost deserted him with the way he swears at the clear test tube and wraps the tourniquet tighter around his arm.

Kirin watches, as gods are prone to do, veiling himself without a wisp of noise and retreating to an unused corner of the lab. It is worrying, the way William jams the needle into his skin, almost missing the vein and groaning as he draws blood from himself. It is not until William has put the vial into a machine without even stopping the wound and appears to just let it bleed does Kirin intervene.

Quietly, he removes his cloak, tapping his knuckles on the nearest piece of stone in the form of a knock until William looks up and Kirin can now clearly see the dark forming under William’s eyes, the red of sleeplessness that creeps at the corners.

"May I come in?" Kirin keeps his voice low, on the off-chance that William might have a headache, and he can see the formation of gratitude admist the frustration and bordering lack of morals that is more and more present in William every day.

William waves a arm dismissively, the same one he’s drawn blood from, and he winces as it causes a stab of pain. “You’re already in here. What’s the point of asking?” His voice is dry, hoarse from disuse and he coughs, finally removing the tourniquet none too gently and seeming to rummage for something among the wreck of papers torn from his clipboard on the table.

"Here." Kirin says simply, and moves faster than William’s blurry eyes can process and lays a hand on his arm, healing over the tiny needle wound with hardly any effort. "You need a rest."

"I’ll rest when there’s not work to be done." William brushes Kirin’s hand off, turning his back on the demigod to pluck the vial from the machine and transfer it to a different one. "Go home, Kirin. I don’t need you."

As much as he knows William doesn’t mean the words, Kirin pauses where he’d been moving to lay a hand on William’s shoulder and returns his hand to his side, thoughtful for a moment before he moves past William and flicks the power for the lab off.

"Hey!" William protests and is about to say more before Kirin’s eyes are narrowed at him and there’s a warmth around his throat and cold stone against his back.

"You’re so very stubborn, Mr. Strife." Kirin says cooly, as if he’s not pinning William to the wall. "Do we need to go over your lessons again?"

"You-" William can barely spit the words out between his gritted teeth and the heavy hold Kirin has around his neck, the tip of each finger a pricking point of contact where electricity sinks into skin and dances along William’s most vital veins. "-are hindering my progress."

Kirin’s retort comes with a smile that sends pulses of another kind along William’s spine and makes him shudder, hands coming up to clasp around Kirin’s wrist- yet they don’t tug. “I like to think of it as progress in an area you need refreshing in.” Kirin’s movements are as sudden as the storms that apparently herald his arrivals, free hand working to ruin the normally well-pressed shirt and vest that William wears in order to brush calloused pads across skin that is pale from not enough sun and scarred from too much work.

The clothing hangs open to either side now, and the progress stops there, Kirin content to simply explore the upper half of his prey until consent is given. William’s eyes have taken on a faint glow as he breathes deeply, retaining and attempting to strengthen whatever composure he still has left. Kirin is fully amused by this, soft laughter leaving him as he lets just a little energy flow into William and watches the composure crumble with small twitches and tightened grasp on Kirin’s wrist. He knows this time is important, to let Strife mentally divest himself of his insecurities and “big-talk” facade- so he just traces scars until he feels a squeeze on his wrist and a shaky utterance.

"Kirin."

"Yes, William?" He can’t help but to feel pride at the shiver he is rewarded with for the way his says Strife’s name, and focuses in on the way the man’s breath hitches in his throat as he finds it hard to say his next words despite the mental preparation.

"I’m yours." It’s not something of defeat, nor will Kirin ever equate it to that. It’s permission, it’s a crack of a door that Strife has opened to allow Kirin, and only Kirin in.

"Good boy," Kirin tells him, and Strife is suddenly malleable under his touch. Kirin slowly releases the grip around Strife’s neck, waiting until Strife’s hands loosen and fall to his sides to remove anything but his fingers. He turns Strife around to face the wall, coaxing him to put his hands up to steady himself. Kirin rubs his thumbs over the muscles in Strife’s back, can feel the stress and pressure that’s knit up and goes to work, rubbing out the worries with kneading and a low hum to soothe Strife. He fully intends to remind Strife of previous lessons taught, but for now, the safety and relaxation of his partner is more important.

Despite the quiet, silence never fully settles around them, Strife’s deep breathing making rhythm with Kirin’s humming until they both have almost fallen asleep and Strife’s muscles are tensionless. Kirin slows his massage and waits for Strife to stir, smiling softly when he turns his head and their eyes meet. “You good?” Kirin asks softly, and at Strife’s lax nod, he reaches out to grasp Strife’s chin firmly and chides him. “Words, boy.”

Strife shivers but doesn’t avert his gaze, keeping his hands on the wall like he knows he’s supposed to. “Green.” He murmurs and sighs contentedly as Kirin scoops him up. The world starts to shift around them and he closes his eyes until the tingle of magic fades and he feels himself being laid down on a bed.

"Sleep, first." Kirin tells him when he tries to get to his knees and places a gentle hand on Strife’s chest, restraining him with barely any force to the bed until Strife consents and yawns, closing his eyes. "Good boy," is whispered in his ear and a tingling static kiss is left on on his cheek as he drifts into a fitful dreamland.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning comes with the smell of fresh baked apple tarts. William rises with a yawn and a scrub at his mucky eyes, blissfully relaxed until his brain begins to fully function and he realizes exactly where he is.

 

"Bed-" He calculates out loud, the word feeling heavy on his lips as he shoves the covers down and looks at his ruined suit and vaguely wonders where his shoes have gone. A quick scan of his surroundings helps to ease his nervousness as he finds his shoes placed neatly by the bedside table, a sniff of the air almost calms him down completely as the sweet scent fills his nostrils. He knows he’s at Kirin’s place now, the events of the evening before coming back to him as he tests his muscles to find the soreness gone.

 

He creeps down the wooden stairway, his argyle socks- one almost coming off and the other pushed down to bunch around his ankle- softening the sound of his descent.

 

"Morning, William." It shouldn’t surprise him, really, that Kirin knows he’s there without even turning from his small workstation where the smell of breakfast emanates from. It does anyways, and William flushes like a small child caught eavesdropping as he slides himself into a seat at the two person table where a place setting is awaiting him and takes in the sight that is Kirin in the morning.

 

The sage’s hair is mussed, the fluff of it even more evident without a hood to flatten it. His chops are stuck out on the side every which way, and William holds back laughter at how almost comical it looks when Kirin turns to give him his tart. His pajamas are equally mis-matched to the normally terrifying man, a light blue t-shirt with loose fitting flannel bottoms. He drowns the rest of his laughter in the flaky smoothness of the pastry, sneaking glances up from his hasty eating to see Kirin take his cup of tea and sit down at the table.

 

"What’s so funny?" Kirin inquires, hands wrapped around his mug as he settles more comfortably into his chair, not yet changed into his mage robes. William finishes off the pastry with a snicker, dusting his hands off on his pants without a care for the already ruined fabric.

 

Kirin raises an eyebrow, and William only snorts, leaning his chair back. “You look ridiculous.” Another laugh that would have been derisive had it been anyone but Kirin.

 

"What, you mean my great pajamas?" Kirin’s almost-not-quite pouting and the over-exaggerated frown his makes combined with his wild hair makes William wheeze with laughter. "Hey, I think they’re great!" There’s not really much Kirin can do to defend himself as Strife gasps for air and waves Kirin off with a flapping hand, so he joins in, his chuckles deep and resonant. When William has regained his composure almost entirely, Kirin turns more serious. "You slept well last night, then?"

 

"Fine, fine." William reassures him, still finding it hard to breathe fully a little and avoiding looking at Kirin’s hair. He sets his chair back down on it’s front legs gently, folding his hands on the table. "Just worried about being taglocked now."

 

"No worries. I’d already warded the bed before you got here." The rest goes unsaid, but William knows what he means and frowns.

 

"I didn’t mean to take your bed- I’m sorry-"

 

"Sh." Kirin cuts him off, and if he was more sappy he’d lay a hand over William’s. He’s not, though. "It’s fine. You were much more in need of it. However, that does bring us to the other topic. I do believe you owe me something, William."

 

"Oh." The word hangs in the air for a moment, William sinking down in his chair and reaching to rub the back of his neck absently. "I guess I do."

 

A heavy sigh emits from Kirin as he rests his mug on the table and turns his full attention to William. “I’m going to go change. There are extra clothes in the downstairs bathroom laid out for you, I suggest you freshen up as well. When we meet back at this table, I expect you to be able to explain what you did wrong. Am I clear?”

 

William shifts in his seat, the sinking shame of being scolded taking root in his core. He doesn’t meet Kirin’s eyes and nods mutely, staring at the ground. It takes a firm hand reaching out to hold his chin and a stern reminder to speak that the word ‘Yes’ finds it’s way out of his throat where it was caught. He still evades Kirin’s gaze, can feel it on him as he collects himself and almost ignores the praise he’s given as he slinks away to shower and change.

 

It’s almost an hour later when he returns to the table and finds Kirin waiting for him, dressed impressively in his robes once more and his hair flattened and tamed despite the fact he’s kept his hood down.

 

"William. Sit." Kirin nudges the chair opposite him out with a foot, and Strife sinks into it with a stubborn scowl. He’s wearing a fresh suit, something he doesn’t want to know how Kirin got, but his hair is still damp and it irritates him. Also, his sunglasses were nowhere to be found, something he’s surprised he didn’t notice earlier. They were probably back at his base, lost in the clutter of his laboratory frustrations.

 

He relays that scowl to Kirin, who tolerates it barely with a raised eyebrow.

 

"So eager to get yourself in more trouble already, or are you going to fix your posture, little boy?" It’s just enough prodding and mocking that Strife glowers for a moment but does sit upright, still refusing to talk.

 

"So?" Kirin prompts, fixing Strife with a stare that would send most running for cover. "What did you do wrong?"

 

Strife huffs, but he knows that admitting his faults will make this all easier for him, and in the end, he’ll get what he wants from it. “I backtalked, defied a previous direct order,and said something untrue.” This part is always hard for him. He’s a proud man, but somehow he’s okay deep down inside with letting Kirin break him like this.

 

Kirin nods, looking less stern and more satisfied. “Good. Now, can you tell me exactly how you did all of those things? Because I was very aware of the first two, but I don’t recall you lying at all.”

 

He takes in a deep breath, recalling what he had pondered on in the shower as he had been told and releases it all in a hurried gush of words. “I backtalked when you first showed up, I broke a direct order by continuing to work with genetics, and I-” Strife’s flow is broken and he swallows hard and fights the urge to duck his head in embarrassment. “-I wasn’t truthful when I said I didn’t need you.” He finishes and looks to Kirin for approval, grateful for the gentle smile and praise he receives.

 

"Good." Kirin stands from his chair, proud of how far Strife had come from their stuttering and near-tearful first time through this. "Follow."

 

Strife melds to the orders quickly, padding after Kirin in his now bare feet, no extra socks having been provided. He’s led downstairs rather than upstairs to the bedroom as he had anticipated, and he feels a hot coil start to curl in his core at the prospect of what was going to come.

 

"Stay."

 

He halts, hands restless at his sides as Kirin warps from view for a moment and he’s left to stare at a thick, imposing wooden door until it opens from the other side and he’s instructed to come in. A soft cloth wraps itself around his head to obscure his vision before his eyes can adjust to the dimmed lights and fully see the room he’s in. Kirin waits a moment, keeping a hand on Strife’s upper right arm as a point of contact.

 

"Green." Strife says, still except for his hands that still twitch at his sides. He can feel the satisfaction practically coming off Kirin, and that calms him almost as much as when Kirin speaks and he focuses in on the bassy tones.

 

"You’ve misbehaved, and you know exactly what you’ve done and have proven to both yourself and me that they were legitimate transgressions." Kirin’s hand wanders now, coming up to grip at the back of Strife’s neck and draw a gasp from him as Kirin’s breath puffs warm across his ear and the voice speaks directly into his ear.

"Now, William, do you accept whatever punishment will come, knowing that at anytime you may stop it using your safeword?"

 

The words would normally be cheesy, but the gravitas behind them here is real. “I do.” Strife replies, his hands finally stilling with a clutched handful of fabric from his pants.

 

"And what is your safeword?" Kirin prompts, the last check-in before he allows Strife to enter his headspace.

 

"Dog. And two taps if I can’t speak." The word draws a hint of laughter from Kirin as it usually does and Strife is almost entirely released except for a hand on his shoulder, his grounding point that they both know Strife always needs when he can’t see.

 

"Good boy." Kirin rumbles and guides Strife somewhere to the left of the room, slowly as to not make him stumble and fall. He’s guided onto his knees, and there’s something underneath him that is rough and grainy. He’s allowed use of his hands for now and he steadies himself, feeling the substance and realizes it’s rice.

 

"Hands go behind your head. You will kneel upright for 3 minutes, and I don’t want to hear a single sound out of you. This is for your backtalk. Good?"

 

"Green," He responds immediately and complies, shifting his hands behind his head and kneeling upright. He doesn’t think this will be that bad, after all, he is still fully clothed.

 

Kirin’s touch is lighter now, toying with the damp strings of Strife’s hair as he kneels on the rice and counts out loud, from 1 to 60 three times. By the first minute, Strife is starting to understand why this is a punishment, the grains of rice pressing painfully into his skin through his pants. At the second minute, he feels the urge to start complaining rise in the back of his throat and tamps it down with a hard swallow that has Kirin hum a noise of approval.

 

At the third minute he almost breaks, struggling to stay kneeling upright and keep his mouth closed. The blindfold makes everything so much worse as it denies him the distraction of looking at things. Kirin’s petting through his hair, counting off the last few seconds and at 60, Strife crumbles, dropping his hands and sitting down so that there’s no more pressure on his knees with a pent up whine slipping out.

 

"I’m sorry for backtalking, sir-" He mumbles and Kirin soothes him, pulling Strife’s head close to rest against his thigh and scratching at his scalp.

 

"You did good, boy. So very good. Not a single sound, I’m very proud of you."

 

Strife makes a whimpered sound of relief, and Kirin crouches down, tugging the blindfold off and holding Strife’s face so he can’t look anywhere but at Kirin. “I bet your knees hurt, huh?”

 

Strife nods, and a thumb pushes at the corner of his mouth until he remembers and mutters. “Yeah.”

 

"Go on and get undressed then. I’ll look at them to be on the safe side." It’s a gamble, telling Strife to undress fully all at once. He’ll usually balk and Kirin won’t press the issue, instead slowly removing one thing at a time for Strife when he knows the other is ready.

 

Strife hesitates. Checks in with himself mentally and finds that he’s ok with undressing in this dim space, the lowered lighting making him feel secure and free from unwanted gazes. He almost nods again to communicate his decision, but catches himself. “Yes, sir.” Kirin releases him, and he is free to look around.

 

It’s a smaller room, lit dimly with a few red colored lamps. There’s not a bed, but there’s a large wood cabinet that glimmers with the traces of a ward about it. A few dully shining rings are visible, scattered about the walls at various heights and some lengths of dyed, soft looking rope are coiled in the corner. He almost gets caught up trying to squint and see everything, but a light tap to his thigh returns his attention to the task he’d been given. He doesn’t apologize, just complies, divesting himself of the suit and folding it neatly. Kirin takes each article from him, setting it beside him on a bench Will hadn’t noticed.

 

When he’s bare, Kirin ushers him to sit on the bench next to his clothes, leaving the pile of rice behind to clean up later. “Good?” He checks, and Strife confirms.

 

"My knees are fine. It just felt like I was injured. Green." The polished wood of the bench feels strange on his bare ass, and he wiggles, waiting for his next punishment. It’s not like he doesn’t know what coming next. He’s disobeyed direct orders before, and sometimes it’s a spanking, sometimes it’s corner time. He equally dislikes both, hates being treated like a little child, which is why Kirin uses it. He’s a bit excited, however. Spanking usually means the last thing Kirin has planned will be more pleasurable if Strife is good, rather than the corner punishment which means Strife will be sent home with no pleasure that day.

 

Kirin goes to the cabinet and when he returns, he has a thick paddle in his hand.

 

"Up. Bend over and put your hands on the bench." He’s got a no-nonsense tone that makes Strife shiver and scramble to obey, bending over and gripping the edge of the wood with his fingers.

 

"Good boy. Now, this is for going against a direct order. This is the third time you’ve done so, and so per our agreement, the punishment is 30 strikes, which you will count out loud. We start over if you mess up, and we stop if you cannot make it to 30. You will still be punished. Good?"

 

"Green." Strife says and closes his eyes, bracing himself for the first strike. It’s deceptively light, and he almost doesn’t know if he should count it, but Kirin doesn’t correct him when he says "one."

 

The first ten are like this and it leaves Strife with just a tingle in his ass and tension building as he grips the bench and bites back a comment to just hit him already. His voice is still strong and clear as he counts out 11 and 12, but when 13 comes, it’s sharp and stinging and he almost yelps out the number, dropping to his elbows to brace himself better.

 

There’s a chuckle from behind him, and Strife feels himself flush with embarrassment at what he must look like from Kirin’s perspective, shaking from the last swat and growing hard. “14.” He mumbles when the next soft hit ghosts it’s way across his skin.

 

It’s not until twenty that Kirin decides to actually get to work, moving closer to settle a heavy hand on Strife’s back and bringing the paddle down in quick, painful hits that alternate across Strife’s ass until he’s panting and struggling to form the word twenty, let alone the second half.

 

"Well?" Kirin says expectantly after a few seconds of Strife’s stuttered attempts. He waits and hears the sharp intake of breath as Strife devotes his mental power to speaking.

 

"Twenty-seven, sir." He says as clearly as he can with pain and remorse lacing his voice, and Kirin smiles.

 

"Good boy." He finishes the spanking off, the last smack resounding in the space around them as Strife whimpers out ‘thirty’. Kirin strokes his hand along Strife’s spine, keeping him in place, bent over and exposed.

 

"Now, for the last thing. I’m not counting that as an offense. You don’t need me, outside of this space, and I don’t want to make you think you do. I like you when you’re independent. But I will prove to you how you do need me, in this situation you’ve allowed me to place you in." Kirin pauses, feels Strife shift under his hand and smirks because he knows Strife is hard and wanting to get off. "Good?"

 

"Green, may I-"

 

"Quiet." Strife snaps his mouth shut and Kirin gives him a pat of approval. "You may not anything. I’m going to show you something, and you are not going to worry about me. Now sit." He removes his hand from Strife’s back, enjoying the grimace on Strife’s face as he puts pressure on his sore ass turn into surprise as Kirin gets to his knees.

 

Gently, Kirin seeks permission, running a hand up Strife’s thigh and telling him he can move. Strife’s hand shoots to Kirin’s hair, fingers tangling in the locks and messing up any grooming. Kirin laughs, sending soft puffs of breath over Strife’s genitals and delights in the way Strife keens and tightens his grip in Kirin’s hair.

 

"The only rule here is that you may not finish until I say so. Good?"

 

"Green, fucking green-" Strife pants and Kirin grins, taking all of Strife’s tentacle into his mouth and sucking.

 

Strife writhes under Kirin’s mouth as Kirin holds Strife down by his thighs and in return gets his hair pulled every time he does something that sends another jolt of pleasure through Strife. Kirin hardly has to do any work like this, the tentacles using his mouth more than anything. Strife comes undone above him, his free hand clawing at the bench as his eyes glow brightly from behind his tightly closed eyes.

 

"Close!" He gasps out, and Kirin pulls back despite the grip in his hair, one hand sliding down from Strife’s thigh to grasp tightly at the base of Strife’s tentacle until he opens his eyes.

 

"Good boy." Kirin purrs, and Strife shudders, hips twitching upwards. "If you want to get off, just answer me this. Who do you need right now?"

 

Strife wastes no time in responding, a shaking mess. “You, sir. Kirin, please, I need to…”

 

"You’ll get to." Kirin reassures him. "You’re doing so well, just let me take care of it." He dips back down teasing the tip of the tentacle with his mouth and drawing a begging groan from Strife. "You may finish." He releases his grip, allowing the tentacle to slide back into his mouth and loosing his hold on Strife’s thighs until Strife thrusts up into Kirin’s mouth and the tip of the tentacle slides its way past Kirin’s gag reflex and Kirin feels the hot liquid drip down the back of his throat as Strife controls his movements in a brief moment that’s over almost faster than it came.

 

When the death-grip in his hair is loosened and he can pull off of Strife, Kirin swallows a few times to clear his mouth and throat before standing and smoothing down his robes. “You learned your lessons?”

 

"Yes, sir." William’s panting, sweaty and red, but relaxed. Kirin’s grateful for that. "Thank you."

 

"Of course. Come along. You need to shower again." Kirin picks Strife up for the second time in 24 hours and despite the other’s protesting, hauls him upstairs to the bathroom. "I am not sleeping with a sweaty you in these robes."

 

"You blew me in those robes!" is Strife’s last tired retort before Kirin leaves him to shower and goes to fetch his clothes.

 

As he showers, Strife ponders the notion that maybe rest days aren’t all that bad.


End file.
